2000 Miles On A Rigid Framed Chopper ... or... Holy Shit, What A Ride!

By Contributing Writer Graham Kilpatrick

I had this trip planned for a couple weeks, to see old Army friends from my days in the 101st Airborne Div. I had spoken with pals Dan and Bob and it was finally time to start this road trip. It’s 928 miles one way to Arkansas City, Kansas. Then onto Florida for the weekend. Now, the weekend before I had blown a spark plug clean out of the front head and had to be picked up and the bike put on a trailer back to home base. After heli-coiling a new plug opening, I was a little concerned to make this trip. I called my buddy Doc and told him I wanted to drop off the sled for him to look at because I was actually going to go through with this mad idea of riding the chopper 2000 miles in under a week. I wanted every nut and bolt checked and double checked, all fluids changed, etc, etc, etc. I left the bike with him on Wednesday and told him I'd be by on Thursday to help do the work. Thursday afternoon I get to his shop and my bike is broken down to resemble what it looked like when we built the damn thing in the first place. Doc said, "The oil tank is leaking and I just wanted to fix it before you took off." Fine, but to get the oil bag out we had to take off the rear fender and all the supports holding the oil bag to said fender, a lot of work but easily done. We get the oil tank out and Doc tig-welds the mounts. Once and for all, the leaks are a thing of the past (Thx Doc!) We re-mount the bag, change the fluids, tighten ALL the nuts and bolts and I ride home to pack and get ready....for 2000 miles!

DAY 1

I went to work and couldn't wait for the day to end so I could jump on the sled and hit the highway. When 2pm rolled around and Joey tells me he is going to close a little early so he can go to his wife's graduation (she got her teaching certificate). No problem by me...CLOSE THIS BITCH SO I CAN HIT THE ROAD, BROTHER! I head back to the house and finish packing, load everything on the bike, tie and bungee it down and kick the old girl to life...I'M OFF! I take Hwy 280 West through Opelika and into B-ham where I get on 78 West bound for Tupelo, Miss. The road is four lanes and I'm making good time. The skies are clear and the weather warm. At the Tupelo city limits I read that Elvis' birth place is giving tours daily and I should visit this historic area … pass. Twisting the throttle, I now have my sights on Memphis and nothing but Memphis. As I reach the city limits, (again I am bombarded with Elvis this and Elvis that), I catch a whife of something in the air. I know you're thinking it was BBQ but NO... I can smell a titty bar from a half mile away and the words ‘Showgirls’ loomed to my right in glorious neon and lighted like non other. I quickly twist the throttle and ride by knowing that if I stop, I will be $100 lighter by time of exit. I now head to Arkansas. My goal is make it into the state before crashing for the night. I do, and 50 miles into the state, I crash at a cheap motel.

DAY 2

The next morning I'm awakened by the front desk clerk as requested and load up the bike and head out on I-40 West. I get no more than 40 miles down the road when the skies open up on me. I stop and put on my rain suit. Twenty-five miles later I stop again and take off the rain suit. This continues for the next 250 odd miles. Put it on. Take it off, etc. Finally, I'm so disgusted and soaked that I no longer care about putting on and taking off the rain suit. At least there is no ‘lid law’ west of the Mississippi River, however a sunburned, rain pelted head gives me second thought. I cuss loudly and twist the throttle hoping to get past the wet weather, but with no luck. I’m still soaked. I finally make it through Arkansas and into Oklahoma. One of the bad things about riding w/o a radio is that you tend sing the last song that you heard for hundreds of miles and as I enter Oklahoma the only song that comes to mind IS Oklahoma. I sing it loudly (and badly) for the next 150 miles. Crossing into Kansas I stop at a gas station and call my friend Dan to let him know I'm within spitting range of him and to meet me somewhere. He does, I do, and we head to his house where I greet his family (which I haven't seen in 20 + years, circa 1984) We eat and eat and drink and drink. Dan and I talk about the good times and the not so good times and of friends we've lost touch with and friends that are now gone. I crash around 11pm much satisfied with the ride, my friend, and times that lay ahead.

DAY 3

I woke up early, (at least early for vacation standards), and called my old pathfinder buddy, Bob. He had taken the next two days off so he could show me around and to catch up on old times. I loaded up the bike and headed south on 77, twenty-five miles to his house in Ponca, Ok. I met Bob at a gas station and then he led the way back to his place where I unloaded my gear. Bob introduced me to his wife and I told her a few war stories about our time as Instructors at the Air Assault School at Ft. Campbell, KY. Things Bob would NEVER have told her came out and she had quite a laugh at his expense. Twelve- o'clock came and that meant, officially, that the bar was open and we could drink ... and drink we did. Every time Bob set his whisky and coke down unattended, I was there to "freshen" it up. He finally got wise and held onto his glass. Around six-o'clock, Dan and Leanne came by and I introduced everyone to each other. Bob was busy grilling the steak and I was busy trying to sneak more whisky in his drink at every opportunity. Dan, Bob and I talked shop while the girls did … whatever it is girls do while men are grilling and talking. Finally Bob said that the food was ready and we all sat out on the deck and ate and drank ... and drank. The hours quickly passed, eventually Dan and Leanne had to leave. We all said our good-bye's and Bob and I went back to drinking. By 11pm I was good and ‘shnockered‘, as was Bob and his wife, so I retired for the night. Lucky for me that Bob didn't find a ‘Sharpie Marker’ and draw all over my face. Twenty years ago both he and I would've done that but I guess age mellows childish pranks or he simply was to drunk and forgot the rule about the first one to pass out is open game.

DAY 4

Bob and I got up, no worse for wear. We jumped in his truck and headed to the firehouse where he works and I got the nickel tour. The firehouse is new and filled with cool stuff, Bob kept telling not to touch this and not to touch that so naturally, I touched everything in sight. The highlight of the tour was the fire pole and YES! I did slide down the fire pole ... hahaha. Next we went to the Marland Mansion. This guy E.W. Marland was the first oil baron and he built a huge 60-thousand square-foot Italian Villa mansion for his family. The place was incredible, all stone and tile for roofing. The story goes that when his first wife died he then married his 21-year-old step-daughter who was a bit of a loone. They had a pretty volatile marriage and he lost most of his fortune. He later became Governor of the State of Oklahoma. Bob took me around town and I picked up some oil and tranny fluid so I could get the bike ready for the return road trip. We then headed back to his house where he started work on the German-styled cuisine for that nights meal ... and we started at it again, him with the whisky and coke and me with my Coronas. I also did my motorcycle maintenance, and pounded several more beers in the process. Dinner was served and we talked for several more hours each trying to embarrass the other in front of his wife. She put up with our war stories and I then loaded up the bike and headed back to Dan's for the night. When I got to Dan's, I was told that Leanne had made cheese cake just for me. No need to tell me twice. I went straight to the kitchen and had two pieces. Later Dan and I talked while sitting on the porch. I told him that I planned to take off in the morning and thanked him for everything. Dan turns in early because he has a seventy mile drive every morning to the job site. I do the same.

DAY 5

I wake early and go down stairs and check the weather. There is nothing but green on the radar everywhere south of where I am. The weather is bright and sunny in Arkansas City but EVERYWHERE else there is rain. I sit and watch the damn screen for an hour hoping and willing the rain to go away. It doesn't. I make the decision to stay an extra day as the weather channel cutie is telling me that tomorrow, all will clear. "It had better be!" (I hope) Dan's two sons (Mike and Andrew) are now awake and I decide that we’ll cook dinner for the family tonight. Mike and I jump on the bike and head to the store for ribs and brats while Andrew stokes the fire. By 3pm the fire is going good and the meats are ready for the grill. I sit down and start pounding beers. I leave the food to the boys and listen as they argue about how "Dad" does it and "That's not how you do it!" I keep quiet and enjoy the entertainment. Andrew comes out to tell me that we are running low on BBQ sauce and off we go back to the store for more sauce, I also take this opportunity to re-supply the beer cache. Upon returning home I am greeted by two young ladies who have come to visit Mike and Andrew. I stay in the shadows and let the kids "visit." Around 5pm Dan gets home and is surprised to see me still there. I tell him about the radar and the rain and that dinner is taken care of and that the beer is ice-cold. I'm now back in good graces. Leanne comes home and we all chow down before watching a Cardinal's game and calling it a night. I have not eaten or drank so much beer since I was 21-year-old. I glad I don't do this very often, but I had a great time.

DAY 6

I wake up at 6am and go downstairs to check the weather channel. All clear! Not a bit of green in sight. I walk out to the bike and load up. My bed roll gets bungeed to the handlebars and the rest of my gear is tied and bungeed to the sissy bar. My Tombstone bag has a built in 3 inch padded back rest and makes these long trips seem short, with the support I can ride for hours. I head out by way of 77 South and then onto I-35 South. I am basically going the reverse route into Oklahoma. I jump onto the parkway and head toward Tulsa and continue on the parkway until it hooks up with I-40 East. So 340 miles later, I'm through Arkansas and by-passing Memphis where I get on Hwy 78 East to Tupelo, Miss. and on into Alabama. The old girl is humming along and sounding great and I’m have no problems whatsoever. The engine is purring like new and I'm doing 60 to 65 miles per hour with a care in the world. The scenery and greenery are terrific. The sun has gone down and I have riden for 16 1/2 hours today. I pull into a gas station around midnight and shut the bike down. I sleep beside the bike for the night.

DAY 7

The adventure starts. I wake up as the sun shines into my eyes. It's around 7am and I reload the bike and gas up. I check the oil and top off the fluids. I try to break the seal on the tranny nut but don't have any channel lock pliers so I try using a screwdriver but of course I have nothing to hit the screwdriver with in order to turn the nut .... sooooo ... I fire up the bike. It takes a little longer than normal, but I think nothing of it as it's early and cool out. Twenty-five miles down 78 East I see a hill with a bunch of rocks and I think to myself, "Hmmm, I'll find a B.F.R. (big fuckin' rock) and check the tranny fluid." I pull off to the side of the road and find a nice B.F.R. and use it on the screwdriver and presto the nut turns and I add gear oil to the tranny and off I go... NOT!!! I kick and I kick and I kick. Nothing. I start checking things. I have lights so the battery is good. I check all the wires to and from, their good. I check plugs and they're good, no fouling at all. I check the points and damn!, it's the points. Now I made sure when I left on this trip to carry with me everything I thought I might need: extra plugs, oil, tranny fluid and condenser (for the points). Now, I meant to get a set of points just to have with me ... But, I didn't. It seems it is always the thing you ain't got that goes wrong. So I sit on the side of Hwy 78 East as the sun rises and I begin to bake. Motorcycles ride by and honk their horns or they'll wave at me and the whole time not a one stops. I begin to give these ‘motorcyclists’ (not ‘Biker's’ for a ‘Biker’ would've stopped to see what was wrong) the one finger salute as they whiz right by me. I begin to think to myself what is wrong with these ‘motorcyclists’ that they don't stop when they see a bike of the side of the road. Then it hits me, they all ride new bikes. Twin Cams or Honda's or Kaw's or Suzuki's and they only pull to the side of the road to take a break, smoke a cigarette, drink a soda, etc. They’ll be damned if ‘they’ break down. Finally, a truck that's pulling an empty trailer stops to check on me. We get to talking and he states that he is on his way to Birmingham to buy a bike and as long as I’m headed that way I can load up the bitch and tag along with him. I instantly accept the offer and after loading ‘said bitch’ on the trailer, we’re off. The truck has the A/C turned up, I now have a tasty beverage in my hands and his daughter is seated in front of me (and she is quite the hottie) I of course realize that I stink to high heaven and have no play with her at all, so I drink my raspberry flavored water and try not to fart as we hit the B-ham city limits. I am dropped of at gas station where I find a bike shop simply called the ‘Hawg Shop’ and I call them. I tell the guy who answers that I have an old bitch and ask if they work on older bikes. He replies that not only do they work on old antique pieces of crap like mine that they even drink beer at the shop. Come get my ass I tell him! Well thirty minutes later the old girl is in the shop bay and the mechanic Jeremy confirmed that the points were indeed done. He then went to the parts counter where he found a set of AMF Harley-Davidson Points (new, in the box). As I drink Busch Beer and bullshit with the owner, Jeremy spends all of five-minutes putting on the points and setting the timing. I finish my beer and kick the old girl to life and off I go again this time off 280 East. The old girl is humming along and the sound coming from the exhaust is music to the highway ...when all of a sudden I hear ping, ping, ping. I heard the exact same sound two weeks ago and I quickly slow down but not before there is a load BANG! Again, I lose the spark plug from the front cylinder head. I am again broke down 56 miles East of B-ham and my weekend in Florida is passing before my eyes. I again sit on the side of the road as like thirty ‘motorcyclists’ ride by and honk their horns and wave might friendly waves in my direction..."FUCK YOU RUB's!!!" I again sit and wait hoping the hope of hopes that just maybe someone else with trailer might stop but no luck. Then a Suzuki rider and his girlfriend do stop and I use their phone and arrange for someone to come get me. They give a drink and head out. An hour or so later a BMW rider stops and I tell him that I am to be rescued sooner than later or later than sooner depending on how you look at it. He does offer to ride to a gas station and get me something to drink. He returns with 2 bottles of Gatorade and a package of Nabs. I thank him gratefully and use his phone to check on my ride. I'm told they will be leaving shortly and to hang in there. I've been playing this game for quite a while now and I know what "shortly" means. Translation, "shortly" means that after the beer is gone or the game has ended or he has shot his wad. Then he will load up and come for me. My ride finds me at 8pm, five hours after breaking down. We load up and head home. At 11pm I stumble into the bedroom and take a shower and a half brush my teeth ... twice. I then retire for the evening.

So my 2000 mile road trip had become 1800 miles and a tow and no trip into Florida. I'm sad that I will miss the Florida leg of the trip but happy just to know that the bike will up and running on Monday and that Doc will work as long as it takes to make that happen. Remembering that no adventure ever goes as planned and that this tale will only get better each time I tell it ... and I'll be telling this one for years to come.

The Author On His '59 Panhead

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